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Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth

Written by: Maudlin

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.

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Chapter Four
Changes

The morning started just like any other for Harry Potter. Vernon Dursley came knocking on his door, at an hour so ungodly that even the sun wasn't awake yet, and ordered the groggy boy to get his scrawny arse out of the bed and to cook him a grand breakfast. Harry slowly pried himself from his bed, located his glasses, and staggered across his bedroom, muttering to himself just as he did every other morning. Without giving his uncle a glance, Harry made his way to the kitchen, practically falling down the stairs, and started to cook, just as he did every other morning.

Just like every other morning, Harry fixed up a simple breakfast which earned him an earful from his annoyed uncle. Plates of bacon, eggs, toast and jam were set down on the table and, almost immediately, Dudley was situated at one of the chairs and started shoving his mouth full of the greasy food. Petunia arrived a little later with her hair in a flawless bun and her dress suit pressed, just like every other morning. And just like every other morning, Vernon grumbled over articles in the newspaper in between gulps of food.

But, unlike every other morning, Harry was sitting at the table. His plate was empty as he had not prepared one to begin with. He watched his aunt and uncle as if waiting for an opportune moment to spring on them something that would surely have his head if he was not careful of how he went about it. It took them a couple of minutes to notice that Harry was not eating in the kitchen and, though they did their best to ignore him, Vernon and Petunia gradually stopped eating and turned to stare at him.

"What are you doing boy?" Vernon narrowed his eyes and set down his cup.

Harry smiled, "Sitting at the table, sir." Of course, this was no way to get on his uncle's good side, but arrogance was a trait that Harry just couldn't help but portray. Vernon's face drew together in an angered expression and purple seeped across his cheeks.

Petunia straightened up even more in her seat and declared, "We can see that, Harry, but what we want to know is why you are sitting at the table. Vernon and I have told you before that breakfast is a time to be spent with family not street rats."

"That's dinner, ma'am," Harry snickered.

"Why, I never!" Petunia exhaled in an exasperated manner, sticking her beaky nose into the air.

Vernon slammed his palm onto the table and huffed, "Stop arsing around, boy!" Everyone at the table jumped at this. Vernon was never one to be vulgar.

Harry bit his tongue. He was never going to go to Diagon Alley if he kept this up. So he swallowed his pride and said, apologetically, "Sorry, Uncle Vernon. I'm tired, that's all. I got a letter from a friend and they want to spend time with me on my birthday. I was asking if you would let me go with them." Harry said slowly, carefully picking out his words.

"Give me one reason why I should let YOU spend time with those, those FREAKS," Vernon grumbled, his anger boiling.

"I'll, erm, be out of your hair?" His nephew responded quietly and hopefully.

Vernon's eyes opened wide, as if taken by surprise, and he seemed to contemplate this for a moment before grumbling, "Even so, I have no reason to reward you—no reason at all. My taking care of you should be a reward enough. You're lucky I didn't send you to an orphanage like the neighbors insisted. You have Petunia to thank for that. If I were to have had my way, I would never have had to put up with a freak like you. Life would be so much simpler around here."

Harry grinded his jaw, but kept what he really wanted to say to himself and, instead, said, "Please, sir? I promise that I'll be good. You won't even notice I'm here."

His uncle huffed and sat quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. After a couple of minutes, he slowly said, "I suppose. But as long as you don't put a single toe out of line and listen to me at all times. I don't want any of that retorting nonsense that I always have to put up with, you hear me?"

Harry smiled a big toothy grin and replied happily, "Yes, sir! Consider my toes in line, sir!" Vernon rolled his beady little eyes and returned to eating, mumbling to himself, and ignoring the astonished glances from his wife and the disappointed ones from his son. Harry couldn't help but to watch his uncle in gratitude, a thankful smile plaguing his face and never faltering in the least.

"Well," Vernon grumbled, without looking up from his plate, "aren't you supposed to be next door, hard at work?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, jumping up from his seat and running out the door.

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"And he just said yes?" Emma said, astonished.

"Well, there were a couple of buts, but pretty much that's what he said," Harry smiled and they shared a short laugh.

They were standing in the middle of a jungle of boxes. Small boxes, big boxes, fat boxes, and skinny boxes surrounded them on all sides. Truthfully, they were lost in the mass. The room they were in was supposed to be Emma's bedroom, but it didn't really seem like a bedroom at all. There was a bed on one wall and on the other were a desk and a dresser, but the entire floor was covered with boxes.

Harry had his hands inside a box of knickknacks and Emma had her hands in another. Knickknacks, ornaments, curios, and junk were the only things they had found in the last eleven boxes. In one box, they found every single holiday card Emma had ever gotten. In another was a bunch of baby toys that once belonged to her grandmother.

Instead of being annoyed by the ever ending sea of junk, Harry was amused by how many presents Emma was given and how many belongings she had. Harry was lucky if his uncle gave him a smelly, old sock. He had always thought that muggles were all unpleasant people. There seemed to be an oasis in the harsh reality of the non magical world.

Emma picked up a small snow globe and muttered, "I wish my dad was that easy."

Harry sat down the trinket in his hand and looked over at the girl with surprise, saying, "What do you mean? Your dad is the easiest bloke I've ever met."

She shrugged, "He may seem like it, Harry, but he's not. Or, at least to Eliza and me. He's always telling us what to do and keeps us on a short leash. We hardly have a life outside of our family. We don't make friends—we don't even go to school! Dad hired a tutor for us. It's absolutely horrid!"

"He's just trying to protect you," Harry nonchalantly replied, setting a teddy bear in a net hanging from a corner of the ceiling.

"I guess so," Emma pouted, "I just wish he'd lighten up some. I'm almost sixteen. I think I can take care of myself."

"At least he cares about you," he said, standing up and looking at Emma with a serious, straight face, "You're lucky to be able to wake up and have a father and a sister who care about you. Your family will do anything for you. Don't ever take that for granted, Emma. I would do anything to switch places with you."

"Oh, Harry," Emma whispered. Harry shrugged it off and went back to unpacking.

A moment later, a loud scream rang through the house and caused Emma and Harry to both drop what they were holding and run down the stairs and out into the kitchen. They found Eliza standing absolutely still and staring intently at the window. Her eyes were narrow and she was leaning against the counter, stretching her neck out as far as it could go.

Emma ran up and placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and worriedly asked, "What's wrong, Elizabeth?"

It took a moment for Eliza to turn and answer her sister. When she finally did, she grumpily said, "A big rat just flew in front of the window!"

"Rats can't fly, Eliza," Emma grunted. "Stop lying and tell me what you really saw."

Elizabeth whined, "I didn't lie! I swear I saw a flying rat!" She turned back to the window and stared. A white blur passed the window and she exclaimed, "See! There it is again! The flying rat!"

Emma leaned against the counter, too. She observed the white blur flying in circles around the houses and the street. She then slowly said, "Eliza…that isn't a rat."

"Then what is it?" Elizabeth pouted.

The older girl scratched her head and said, "I think it's an owl."

"What would an owl be doing flying around during the day," she doubtfully retorted.

"I don't know," Emma said. She looked back out through the window at the soaring owl.

Shrugging, Elizabeth looks to her sister and casually suggested, "Ask Harry-boo. He's lived around here longer."

"Hey Harry—erm…Harry-boo?" Emma did a double-take of her sister and stared at her with dubious eyes.

"Heheh," Eliza sheepishly laughed.

The two girls looked back towards Harry, or rather, where Harry once stood. Instead there was an empty spot in the kitchen and an open backdoor. The two girls shrugged it off. Emma dragged her sister up the stairs and forced her to unpack her belongings along with her. After much groaning and moaning, Eliza reluctantly decided to oblige.

Unbeknownst to them, Harry was already stumbling through his back door and up the stairs to his room. Hedwig was sitting on his windowsill staring at Harry with aggravated black eyes, fluttering her wings, and shuffling around. Harry walked up to her and squatted at the window and rested his arms on the sill, looking up at Hedwig with a bit of laughter touching his lips.

"What are you doing, Hedwig?" Harry playfully asked. "You can't go flying around in plain sight. You already have the neighbors questioning me."

She clicked her tongue and stuck her leg out, showing off three small parcels.

Harry stared at them in shock before looking back at Hedwig, "You sure have been busy lately, you know that?"

A yell erupted from the downstairs den. It was a yell by his Uncle Vernon who was just returning home from work and was ordering assistance from Harry. Harry frowned and whished that he could have stayed next door for a longer period of time. He looked over, apologetically, at Hedwig, told her to be good, and he left for downstairs.

Thirty minutes and one migraine later, Harry was back in his room lying face down on his bed. He was staring at his trunk, trying to decide whether or not to attempt to finish his homework. He decided to do it another day.

He turned over in his bed to lie on his back and to meditate as he did everyday. Meditation, or his definition of meditation, allowed for Harry to mentally sort out his problems even if he could not in reality. A fictional paradise was always a result of his meditation. No one was suffering, especially himself, and the whole world was at peace. First off, there was never a Dark Lord. Because of this, his parents never died and Sirius Black was never blamed for their deaths. Harry never became the Boy-who-lived and was nothing but a normal wizard growing up in a normal wizarding home. His aunt and uncle were just fine with magic and were often invited over for his mother's phenomenal seven course meals. The Weasleys were higher up in the hierarchy and had more money so no one had to wear hand-me-down clothes or have hand-me-down evil rats. The Malfoys weren't so aggravatingly picky about a wizard's blood. Cedric Diggory was still alive and so Cho Chang was still madly in love with the bloke. Harry's heart was broken, but he would eventually get over it. Remus was, forevermore, Professor Lupin at the school and was loved by everyone because he was not a werewolf. Professor Snape was a mite kinder and gave out less homework over the summer. Professor Dumbledore even began to make a little sense.

But no matter how often and how hard Harry meditated on this peace, it would never come true. His life was to be filled with tragedy and remorse. He would never have his parents and he would never have his godfather. Harry would never be able to live the life he yearned to live.

Slowly, he would drift from his meditation and be back in his room, away from all the laughter and smiling faces. He would be surrounded by the drab wallpaper and the appalling stench of Dudley that he could never seem to wash from his room. It was the same thing everyday. A monotonous cycle that Harry could never break.

At least there were escapes from reality. His little daydreams, his letters from his friends—which he was getting much more frequently due to his owl's determination to make him feel better—and even the little trips next door everyday. These escapes were possibly the only things that kept him alive during the summer. At Hogwarts, Harry had his friends and his studies with him at all time and there was never a great need for an escape because he was always escaping reality. Hogwarts was the biggest escape he had.

Hedwig flapped her wings loudly and Harry shot up in bed because of it. He looked over at the aggravated owl, sheepishly laughing to himself after he noticed the parcels were still attached to Hedwig's leg. He hurried over and untied them while Hedwig hopped over to her cage to drink before she would fly off into the dying sunset.

The first parcel he opened was from Hermione and read:

Harry,

I can not help but worry about you. You are stuck living with those horrible muggles and you expect me not to worry? Honestly, Harry! Anyway, you should give Hedwig a break. She is here everyday and I'm sure she is flying to Ron's house as well. The poor dear is going to kill herself.

Harry looked over at Hedwig whom was utterly oblivious to his questioning look. She didn't look tired, perhaps aggravated, but not tired.

Can you come to Diagon Alley or not?

Love,
Hermione

P.S. Have you finished your homework yet?

Harry simpered while unrolling the other parcel which was, obviously, from Ron. It simply read:

Harry,

That's bloody brilliant! I wish I had cute neighbors. Wait, I don't have any neighbors, do I? Can you go or not Harry! Hurry up and send that busy owl of yours.

Ron

The third parcel was written in a handwriting he didn't recognize and wasn't even signed. The contents were even more confusing. It was a simple sentence. There was no explanation and no depth to it. It was just one little sentence.

Beware the lies they tell.

Harry frowned and quietly asked Hedwig, "Where did you get this?"

She completely ignored him and merely kept on grooming herself. It wasn't like he was expecting an understandable response anyway.

He put the letter aside without much of a second thought and wrote back identical responses to his friends, simply telling them that he could go to Diagon Alley. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, and climbed sleepily to bed. He said goodnight to Hedwig and then drifted off to a restless sleep.

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Author's Note: Is that a plot I see? Oh…I think it is! Haha. It's about time, though.

"Beware the lies they tell."

Not all that spooky…-; Oh well, I tried anyway. Stay tuned for chapter five!